Platter
by leuska
Summary: “I told you I could do it,” she says in a triumphant voice, yet doesn’t move a muscle, too afraid to break the fickle balance. Just a little silly idea that popped into my head last night. : Spoilers for 4x18


**Name**: Platter

**Characters/Pairing**: Michael/Sara

**Genre**: het, fluff, general, family, …is there a genre called – "_silly_"?

**Rating**: PG

**Spoilers: **vague for 4x18

**Word** **count**: approx. 670

**Summary**: _"I told you I could do it," she says in a triumphant voice, yet doesn't move a muscle, too afraid to break the fickle balance. _Just a little silly idea that popped into my head last night. :)

**A/N: **Huge thanks for to **shibbyfangirl** for the prompt read-through, all remaining mistakes are mine. :)

For **Burntcircles**, whose birthday it is today, and for the amazing ladies **Msgenevieve** and **Scribblecat** for creating **everbeentobaja**. I owe you girls, big time. :)

**Platter**

He walks into the house closing the veranda door behind him with a distinctive click, quietly enough not to wake her in case she is taking a nap, but loudly enough to alert her that he was already back and inside the house.

He studies their sunlit kitchen that smells of fresh, exotic fruit and tomato pasta they had for lunch, then walks further into the house in a search for his double-pack of joy.

Entering the snug living space, he finds it bathed in the afternoon sun, but there is also a far brighter source of light that catches his eyes.

His heavily-pregnant wife is sitting on the couch, her expression one of utmost concentration. Her tongue is slightly sticking out of her mouth and eyes are narrowed in two thin lines. Her belly is exposed – the singlet she is wearing rolled up right under her breasts, and she is carefully balancing a can of soda just on top of her bulging belly.

Michael cannot help but bubble with laugher, the rich and rare sound filling the room, and it's only then that Sara notices his presence with a surprised start, the soda can almost toppling over.

"I told you I could do it," she says in a triumphant voice, yet doesn't move a muscle, too afraid to break the fickle balance.

"That's so disrespectful," says Michael, his head shaking in disbelief, all the while continuing to chuckle heartily, remembering the playful banter they shared last night right before falling asleep. Michael claimed there was no way she could use her belly as a platter - no matter how hard she tried - she couldn't balance _anything_ on her constantly moving stomach, the frequency as well as force of the bumping and kicking in her belly caused by tiny knees and elbows and feet of their child preventing a stable surface. Even though she stubbornly replied it was a bet, he didn't think she actually meant it back then.

'_S__hould have known better'_, thinks Michael with a smirk, knowing Sara would try everything in her might to prove him wrong. And with a warm feeling in his heart, Michael realizes that never before did he feel better about losing a bet.

"Ha! What do you say _now_, genius?" asks Sara, eyebrows rising challengingly. Her hands are crazily flailing in what appears to be a bad attempt on performing '_jazz hands_'.

He loves it – this playfulness of hers – and wonders if it's just the pregnancy that's making her this easy and relaxed, or if it's the simple fact of being finally safe and sound, together, without having to face the constant worry for their lives over and over again. But Michael has to admit too, that a tiny bit of his heart hopes - and wishes – her relaxed behavior to be somehow connected to _his _presence as well.

She is giving him that grin now, the one telling him she is up to no good, and he feels his insides turn to liquid. This is the dream he never dared to hope would come true.

He feels uneasy, _moved_, but he doesn't want this moment to become a serious one, because there's been one too many of those in the past couple of months. So he chooses to play her game instead, willing his slightly trembling voice to calm as to not give him away.

"So? I said, what do you say _now_, genius?" repeats Sara her question, impatience as well as playfulness lilting her voice.

"What I _now_ say is…" starts Michael feigning a mischievous tone as best as he can, all the while having problems breathing due to the crushing pressure of his chest expanding with love and faith and pride, "…that it doesn't count unless you can do it using a coaster."

The can of soda finally topples over when her rich laughter fills the room unexpectedly, and he bathes in the beautiful sound, which he knows he will never grow tired of.

~~~~oOo~~~


End file.
